


Olivia

by Darkrealmist



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Angels, Anger, Blood, Card Games, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama, Fantasy, Foreshadowing, Gen, Gothic, Horror, Immortality, Innistrad (Magic: The Gathering), Inspired by Real Events, Loss of Control, Madness, Magic, Nobility, Rivalry, Showing Off, Strong Female Characters, Vampires, Violence, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29038824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrealmist/pseuds/Darkrealmist
Summary: Anje Falkenrath has a war of propriety with Olivia Voldaren.





	Olivia

Olivia

Author’s Note: Set during Innistrad Block, before the events of _Avacyn Restored_. Enjoy the story and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of _Magic: The Gathering_.

Card Reference: <http://gatherer.wizards.com/Pages/Card/Details.aspx?multiverseid=247235>

Summary:

Anje Falkenrath has a war of propriety with Olivia Voldaren.

* * *

Celebrants from Innistrad’s four main vampire bloodlines were in attendance of the lavish party, a not always affable intermingling the Voldaren progenitor arranged because she was bored.

She cracked her neck in her prestigious but practically perplexing gorget, sharp and black as dusk.

A chair was being set below. The owner of that special chair appeared with uncanny speed from the top of the staircase. Smoky yet wild, her fore-shadow clung to her, and she spiked her hot talons savagely into a fleeing invitee, pulling out her claw to smear the victim’s exquisite blood over her thirsty mouth.

“This one’s human, Olivia. I can smell the frailty on him.”

The Falkenrath. How brazenly the marauders embrace the predatory glory they knew in their race’s infancy.

“Anje Falkenrath. Every moon, the poise of nobility in your house is relinquished to the urge to feed. I am captivated what time will pass before you lose yourselves completely and emerge reasonless monsters.”

“Pretenses! We all hide a little madness behind our sophistication, do we not?”

Anje Falkenrath dressed to emphasize her cruelty. She wore an evening dress _under_ her threatening high-collared coat – reinforcing she prioritized function over fashion – and had the face of a hairless mole and the pointy ears of a bat. Biting, bearing in mind those of the Voldaren Estate were best adept at borrowing animal forms.

The women laughed darkly, but there was an indisputable current of antagonism between them. Olivia took particular relish aggravating the impulsive scion by simply floating there. Among the bloodlines, it was quietly accepted that Voldaren ranked second behind Markov in terms of importance and sway, Stromkirk and Falkenrath distant laggards, even if some contested it in private.

Olivia would pay a generous piece of her considerable wealth to watch Anje throw her rage at Castle Falkenrath.

Anje booted the body down the remaining steps onto the first floor, her feral escorts tearing it apart and draining it in a moment of pure bloodlust and vampiric fury. The more “sophisticated” connoisseurs kept their place, superficial and ineffectual (and superficially ineffectual), but hatefully judgmental if they were to lower their dinner masks. For them, ceremony was to be observed prior to getting their fangs sloshing wet.

“Insatiable gorgers. Incorrigible youths. Ah, to be young again.” Olivia reminisced.

“Dances and banquets? Let them graze unencumbered, and you’ll all remember what it is to feel again.”

“Decadence and elegance often walk hand in hand. I have seen a hundred mortal families rise and fall. I shall outlast a thousand more. Savoir-vivre serves a rousing belief, Anje. The centuries have shown me its appeal.”

Aristocrats could not stomach such rakish behaviour forever. The displeased guests started a bonfire, and damned Anje’s chair as tribute.

“Barbarians! They burned my favourite chair! We’ll kill them all!”

A frenzy ensued.

Traitorous blood. Vampires eating vampires. Just as Sorin Markov anticipated.

Proof Sorin was correct, that creating Avacyn vindicated him, angered Olivia beyond what her red hair and eyes could portray.

“That’s quite enough.”

She didn’t need to muster her voice. The ravenous bloodseekers, including the Falkenrath, discarded the closest prey.

Do not disobey Lady Voldaren. This was an Olivia mobilized for war. An Olivia who’d lift her glass to seeing her enemy’s past in flames.

Post-rampage, posthaste, the gathering recommenced melodious affairs.

“You see what can be done with a little noble finesse, Anje?” Olivia gloated, intentionally omitting an apology for Anje’s absurd chair. “No muss, no fuss, no problems.”


End file.
